


Her Name was Blondie

by thelordvoldemort



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Fingering, Anal Fisting, Anal Sex, Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, BDSM, Bipolar Disorder, Bisexual Character, Breathplay, Cock Rings, Depression, Double Penetration, Drama, Explicit Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Family Secrets, Fluff, Food Sex, Foot Fetish, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurity, M/M, Master/Servant, Masturbation, Mood Disorder, Multi, Multiple Partners, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Paint Kink, Pegging, Power Play, Prostitution, Rough Sex, Sex Toys, Suicidal Thoughts, Temperature Play, Vaginal Sex, Wax Play
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-03-10 10:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3286796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelordvoldemort/pseuds/thelordvoldemort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"What would you do if your son was at home, crying all alone on the bedroom floor cause he's hungry and the only way to feed him is to sleep with a man for a little bit of money?"</p><p>*Please consider tags for any trigger or discomfort warnings before reading. If requested in comments, sexual content can be forewarned and marked for readers to skip over.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Scenes in italics are flashbacks. Strongly based on Bastille's cover of City High's song, "What Would You Do?" I hope this explain some of the weird phrases. All mistakes are my own. Dislcaimer: I do not own Doctor Who or its characters, nor do I own Bastille or their song cover.
> 
> NOTE: I have put the Eleventh Doctor in the character tag because Ian Matthew Tyler, Rose's son, is 1/3 based on him, 1/3 based on Elliot Smith from the vine account of his mother, Harmony Smith, and 1/3 based on my own imagination.
> 
> ALSO: It is recommended that readers review the tags with every new chapter update, as new main characters, relationships, tags, and warnings are likely to often be added. Usually, fics with loads upon loads of tags bother me. For what I have planned for this fic, I now understand why it is so important to reference all those tags. THERE WILL BE MULTIPLE INTENSE AND GRAPHICALLY DEPICTED SEX SCENES THROUGHOUT THIS STORY. The A/N at the beginning of each chapter will give trigger warnings so that readers know what will happen and when. If readers are uncomfortable with certain tags, the passages will be identified in the A/N so as to be looked over. However, no true sex scenes start to happen until chapter 3. When I say this, I mean that chapter 3 opens with a sex scene.
> 
> *Despite the title, Rose will be working mainly as Belle, the escort.

John Noble grips the edge of an armrest on his chair with one hand as his other taps out an insistant ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum-ba-dum on his kitchen table. A deep intake of breath is sharply rushed out through his nose as he attempts to physically see through the cup of tea in front of him. Maybe if he focuses hard enough, he could make it disappear. It's the cup- the worn out blue one with “Trust me, I’m a doctor.” written in white that he uses nearly every day- that _she_ had given him all those years ago for Christmas when he told her that he had decided he would be going off to uni the next year to study to be a doctor. Well, a specific and specialized doctor. Well a consultant doctor. Well, a specific and specialized consultant doctor who travelled as needed, but still had a home in London to return to. A home in London to return to and- he had hoped all those years ago- _her_.

Funny thing, that. Hope. Not always so funny how it works, though.

“Boys and girls, wanna hear a true story?” he crosses his arms and leans back in his chair, swiveling it a bit since it’s one of those chairs; a chair that swivels. And has wheels. 

“Oh no you don’t, Spaceman,” Donna gapes at her brother. “You zone out for like ten minutes tryna, oh, I dunno, blow up your bloody tea with your mind or something,” John raises an eyebrow at that. She isn’t too far off. “And now you’ve got some bloomin’ story outta the blue? I was talking about my job promotion, you know! My job promotion I worked very hard to get, with what you call _encouragement_ but is really you yelling and bossing me around for a month, thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome.”

At Donna’s glare, John coughs and cards one hand through his hair.

“Yes, well, I said congratulations a bunch of times already today. Even bought you flowers! Until captain innuendo over there had to go bigger and better, including a vase to put on display-“

“All you had to do was ask, John. I’ll put on a disp-“

“Nope, nope, no, nope, nada, no thank you.” John grimaces as his always-on-the-prowl friend, Jack, gives him a slow, deliberate once over look and a wink.

Donna sighs and shakes her head, “Alright. What’s this story of yours, then? And it better be good,” she warns with a pointed finger in his direction before grabbing her own cup. This one is red and read, ‘Property of: the better twin’ in black that John may or may not have stolen from Donna’s cupboard the other week, hoping she wouldn’t notice. She did.

Having finished his tea already, Jack leans back in his own seat and crosses his arms; ever the listener, him.

Not wanting to hold the same position as Jack, John lets his arms fall to the table. He's bound to move them around animatedly sooner or later, anyways.

“Saturday night, I was at this real wild party..”

“You mean the one you still haven’t told me about?”

“Well, I’m telling you now, Donna. Aren’t I?”

Lifting her mug to her mouth, Donna makes a noncommittal noise and raises her eyebrows.

“Is that the reason you looked like shit when we got lunch on Sunday? I knew you had a hangover!” Jack exclaims, causing John to groan.

“I wasn’t-“ he sighs. “I mean, there was liquor overflowing the cups. Don’t think I saw a single empty one the entire night, now that I think about it. Not that I drank much, besides,” he says pointedly, with a tilted chin in Jack’s direction who lifts his hands in his own defense before crossing his arms again.

“Alright, so you went to a keg party and didn’t get drunk off your arse. So what?” Donna asks.

“Well the booze wasn’t the important thing, and it wasn’t a keg party, Donna. There weren’t even that many kegs there! Just seven! Eight..” he corrects himself. “N-nine?” he tugs his ear. “Definitely less than ten.. Or ten. Maybe ten. Probably ten- look it doesn’t matter!”

“Then what does? .. Did? Whatever. Bloody tenses.”

One of John’s hands finds its way to the back of his neck and his face begins to scrunch up as he fights not to make eye contact with his tea time companions.

“John-“

“What, or no, sorry, _who_ do you usually find at a heterosexual male dominant party with beer? Other than the males? Jack?”

“Oh. Well,” Jack gives Donna a tooth smile. She rolls her eyes.

“ _Jack_ -”

“About five or six strippers trying to work for a buck, so what? You get your first lap dance, Johnny? Is that what you’re trying to tell us?”

“What!?” John’s hands smack the table and he winces. “What, no- Jaaack,” he drags out the vowel. “I’ve..” a quick glance at Donna shows she’s got her face hidden in her cup, trying not to laugh. “Don’t call me Johnny. And it wasn’t my first, and-“

“OH MY GOD! Should I leave the room for this? Because I really don’t think I want to hear about your… Whatever it is you try to convince us all you do.”

“What! I- no, Donna, no. Just.. no, stop, please… You need to hear this. Or well, maybe not. Maybe neither of you needs to hear this, but _I_ need someone to hear this, and no one else would understand. So just..” another sigh pushes past his lips.

Blimey, why is this so hard to talk about? He’s a grown, mature, manly man who should be able to talk about… about… And besides, he’s moved on; hasn’t talked about _her_ in forever.

—————

_He doesn't want to go to this stupid party in the first place. Not really. Not entirely. Well, sort of; maybe._

_John never really liked his coworker- well, he says coworker but really, Adam Mitchell is your average every day surgeon (specialized in the brain and head and all that flipping fantastic stuff) who just so happens to also be a bragging genius (not as genius as John of course, much to Adam’s chagrin) and they have rarely ever worked together, anyways. Mostly he just tries to brag about his ‘genius brain’ around John because he thinks he can convince John into letting him perform surgery with him. John is one of the best doctors out there and those he chooses to work with him almost always get higher promotions or name recognition. But they always earn it; John only takes the best under his wing. But then there are people like Adam Mitchell who pretend to take interest in him whenever they wanted something. Currently, the stupid ape wants to assist him on the partial thyroidectomy- “You specialize in the brain, Adam.” “Yeah, well, I’m considering experimenting with the rest of the body.” “I bet you are.” “What?” “Nothing.” "So can I?" "Ugh."- John is to perform two Tuesday's from now. With Suki and Cathica. Both of whom, John knows Adam has been currently trying to woo into sleeping with him._

_So what does the pretty boy do? He invites John to a party._

_”It’ll be the best,” he insists._

_It takes a great deal of willpower for John not to roll his eyes right there and then._

_Adam Mitchell is so thick you could put a door in the middle of his forehead and he’d probably claim it helps him read the news, weather, and traffic reports faster._

_There is no way at all that John is going to let Adam Mitchell into his operating room on Tuesday. But a little bit of fun and “How about the next neurological consult I’m called for, I’ll consider you for my surgical consultant if you’re around, eh?” couldn’t hurt anyone. Right? At least that’s what John thought until the strippers arrive. Or more specifically; when the woman he’s sang “Last Christmas” about every December for the past ten years arrives._

_And then Adam Mitchell heads straight for her._

—————

“So I took one girl outside with me-“ John recalls.

“J-AH-AH-AH-AH-NY BOY!” Jack exclaims with a smirk.

“Jack..”

“Are you really sure you _need_ me to hear this?” Donna asks as she shifts in her seat. 

She’s probably uncomfortable with the indirect direction of this story. Or maybe her bum fell asleep. Has his bum fallen asleep?

John wiggles.

Nah; bum’s fine.

“Yes,” John eventually answers. “Sort of,” he deflates. “Most likely, just- listen.”

—————

 _He’ll be damned if he lets Adam bloody Mitchell into his operating room, but he’ll do it if it keeps him away from_ her.

_Then again, there are other ways.._

_She’s in the middle of dancing like the rest of the girls. They’ve scattered throughout the apartment and she just so happens to have ended up nearish to his lone stance in a corner. Adam is getting closer to her, but switching his glance back and forth between her and some tall dark haired girl. Before the woman who once held all his affects could make eye contact with either him or Adam, and before she could reach for the straps of her dress, John makes his move._

_”Run,” he grabs her hand and makes a beeline for the balcony of whoever’s flat this is._

_Possibly Adam’s. Maybe Adam’s. No, too nice to be Adam's. Doesn’t matter._

_Once outside, he lets go of her hand and shuts the balcony doors. He makes sure the curtains are mostly closed inside the flat; only a few inches of visibility through the thick fabric. Satisfied, he turns around to watch her situate herself at the railing, looking up towards the sky. He goes to join her and can't help his pang of disappointment. The city is too bright to see the stars._

—————

“Her name was ‘Blondie,’ she went to school with us,” he rushes out then gulps down some tea as casually as he can. 

“Blondie?” Donna says slowly.

John nods.

“And she went to..”

“You got a lap dance from someone named Blondie?” Jack asks.

“No! Well..”

“BLONDIE? AS IN-“ Donna starts, again.

“As in, her stripper name's ‘Blondie,’” John quickly interrupts, as he is in no mood for Donna’s loud mouth yelling.

—————

_”So..” he prompts._

_He doesn’t really know why he dragged her out here and he doesn’t really know what to do now. All he knows is that he does not want either of them to go back inside. Inside has Adam Mitchell and a few other men he can’t stand from the hospital, half naked women (granted, she is only in stockings and a short, formfitting, low-cut black dress; a small scrap of fabric, really), horny men (okay, so maybe he likes the stockings a bit.. and the heels- black and slick looking with a thin, high heel- “fuck me heels,” he thinks women refer to them as) and cheap tasting liquor that burned in his throat when he tried it upon arrival (and not in a good way)._

_”So..” she volleys back._

_”Blondie?” he remembers casually overhearing her telling some stupid pretty boy who asked before being tempted away by another blonde instead._

_John tells himself that he knows what he’s doing; that he knows the woman next to him._

_She laughs. It’s short lived but good natured. He thinks she might be blushing, but it’s hard to tell with all that make-up. Though he has to admit, her skills have improved (he swallows thickly at the thought) gorgeously. No longer does she cake on foundation or apply thick clumps of mascara to her eyelashes. She has perfected her painted look like the artist he remembers her always wanting to be. If he looks closely enough, he can tell each individual eyelash apart and he can’t tell where her foundation starts nor ends, but he does know she’s wearing some. He tells himself that he would_ know _if her skin was naturally exposed. It’s in that moment that he realizes that he doesn’t know this woman at all._

—————

“John, in school there were only three people we would called blo-“

“I said, ‘Why you up in there dancing for cash? I guess a whole lot's changed since I seen you last.’ She said..”

“Oh, John-”

“Wait,” Jack holds up a hand in-between the twins. “So did you get a lap dance or not?”

That gets him a sharp smack to the chest from Donna, but Jack only smiles in return.

“John-”

“She said..” he tries to continue his story, not wanting to jump into the finer details just yet.

Donna has other ideas.

_"John."_

Closing his eyes, John grasps the armrests of his chair, leans his head back against his seat, and swivels.

“There were only three people,” Donna starts, again. “That we called ‘Blondie’ in school. Kosh-“

“Harry,” John corrects harshly but quietly. To this day, John still struggles with the nickname he gave his old childhood friend. Enemy. Frenemy. Whatever.

“Harry. Who is a man. And you said ‘she’ so it can’t be him,” John shakes his head. “There was Lucy,” she’s been talking slowly, trying to gauge John’s reaction. She’s very sure she knows who ‘Blondie’ is and part of her hopes she’s right. Another part just feels sorry for John. “And Rose?” it’s asked as a question because if this ‘she’ is her, then Donna _needs_ to know.

John stops moving in his seat. His head is still tilted back and his eyes are still closed. He looks like he’s sleeping, but Donna knows better. He’s remembering.

His eyes stay shut as he continues to tell the story.

—————

_”Donna used to call me that; ‘Blondie,’” she muses. So she does remember him, knows it’s him. Good. Brilliant. Of course she does. It's not like he thought otherwise. Not quite possible to forget each other anyways, now is it? "It’s what my agent referred to me as when she first met me and, oh,” she sighs through her pursed, plump lips. “Dunno. Guess it sort of just fit? Though, that’s only my stripper name.”_

_She turns her head to look at him, and he knows she’s waiting for him to ask. Waiting for him to call her out and criticize her. Shame her for taking the fun, harmless pet name his sister used for her and using it for something… Well, for something that her clients- the men (and probably some women) that pay her- see as fun and harmless._

_Except it isn’t fun and it isn’t harmless. She never did like the nickname._

_But he rises to the bait just like she knew he would because he can’t help it- he could never help himself around her._

_“That all?” he tries to make the question sound light, almost flippant, with a quick laugh that definitely isn’t from nerves._

_John had practically dragged her out to this balcony. Blondie has been leaning against the railing- and yes, if the calculated wiggle of her hips as she bends forward is anything to go by, this is definitely Blondie he is standing next to. Whether he os talking with Blondie or Rose Tyler or any other persona she goes by, he just can’t tell. But then she twists her body and leans her side into the rail, one elbow resting on top to hold her in place, and head tilting to the point of all her hair falling to one side and her face and chest angling up towards him, and he tells himself that this is not Rose Tyler. Or maybe it is. Maybe she’s just hiding under Blondie and-_

_“Belle de Jour; that’s my escort name,” she slowly guides the words out through her mouth with that little pink tongue he craved so indispensably throughout his youth._

_He swallows, feeling his adam’s apple bob and notices her eyes follow the motion before looking away._

_And then she tells him to sit down._

_”What?”_

_Instead of answering, she places her hands on his hips and guides him backwards. He grabs at her own hips for support when she tries to push him downwards._

_John lands clumsily and heavily on a chair._

_Blondie maneuvers herself to gracefully and lightly straddle his lap and moves her hands from his hips to the straps of her dress, which she lowers off her arms. Then she shimmies her dress down her body to reveal a mostly see through lace bra and half of her torso before resting her hands at the back of his neck._

_She leans forward, getting closeclosecloser, almost touching but not quite, except to nibble lightly on his earlobe- the earlobe of his left ear, the one she used to call ‘wonky’- before whispering, ”As much as I appreciate the privacy you tried to ensure, someone’s moved the curtains and if I’m not doing at least something other than standing about, I could risk getting my pay lowered. You can touch me, it's allowed.”_

_Then she grounds against him. He can’t contain the gasp-turn-to-groan-turn-to-pant that escapes him anymore than he can contain the twitch of his cock. It has been a long time since a woman has touched him (or that he has touched a woman- not that his hands that were still on her hips can be considered ‘touching;’ not like that) and even longer that these hands, this body, this woman touched him. John used to dream about it, about her, after she left._

_And then he remembers. His body has no reason to react this way; not to her, to Blondie. He was always one to get worked up from jealously when he was with Rose. Though he thinks that maybe it shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that he’s already half hard after watching her show off for all those men who would have done much more than touched her hips if he hadn’t gotten her outside. ‘Possessive,’ she had used to call him when they were younger as he would whisk her away from other boys who would lear at her and then he would fuck her against the nearest semi-secluded flat surface, just because he could and they couldn’t. But right now, he is not being jealous and he is not being possessive. He isn’t because he tells himself he isn’t. He is angry, he tells himself, and he wants to do something about it. Something unlike what he used to do. Not that his body cares. But the rest of him- his heart, his mind, his feelings- they care._

_”Could you move your hands up my back or down to my bum or something?”_

_It’s not a demand or a request, but more of a suggestion. They do have to pretend to be in character, he reminds himself. It’s either that he move his hands slowly all over and tell himself that he’s not trying to map out her body for the first time in forever and compare it to what he can remember her body feeling like under his touch and caress and tell himself that she’s not doing that either when she touches him in a similar fashion- all just so he can finally talk to her, finally get some answers or some closure or just anything, really- or he can stay still, wait until some other man comes out to claim her, forcing him to go back inside and drink until he forgets any of this ever happened._

_He goes for the former and tells himself that all their touches mean nothing. That a squeeze of her bum is a ‘fuck you for leaving me’ not a ‘why did you leave me?’ that a nip to her collarbone is a ‘you’re the one who started that fight in the first place, so this is all your fault’ not a ‘why did you always feel you had to try to take the blame so I didn’t have to?’ that a kiss to that freckle on her shoulder that he can’t believe he has forgotten about from time to time is a ‘you did this to yourself, all by yourself’ not a ‘why haven’t you ever come back to me?’_

_”Why you up in there dancing for cash, Rose? I guess a whole lot's changed since I seen you last,” he tries to sound casual yet accusing and takes a moment to think about what a strange combination that is before brushing the thought aside and focusing once again on his anger._

_The look on her face, whether it be Rose, Blondie, or Belle is one he thinks he will never forget. The last time he had seen anger and suffocated pain that pure and that raw, he had broken the mirror._

—————

“What did she say, John?” Donna asks when he goes quiet for a second too long.

“She said.. ‘What would you do if your son was at home crying all alone on the bedroom floor, cause he's hungry and the only way to feed him is to sleep with a man for a little bit of money? And his daddy's gone in and out of lock down. I ain't got a job now, he's just smokin' rock now.’"

“She has a kid?”

“Yeah,” John breathes on an exhale before running his hands over his face and into his hair. “Jimmy.. the dad.. that bloke she ran away with.. I'm assuming he's the dad.. he’s long gone, locked up for life for assault and other things she didn’t care to mention. But I didn’t get to ask the kid’s name, so..” he trails off, rubbing at one eye with a finger.

—————

_"So for you?" she whispers lowly in his ear, "This is just a good time," and punctures her words with another rough grind of her hips against his lap and a shove of her breasts against his chest. It chokes up a groan from him, and maybe from her, too. She could be faking. He can’t remember herhimthem well enough all those years ago; being each other’s firsts and hopefully- or at least hopefully for him- each other’s last._

_"And for you?" his voice is husky, but he prides himself on not letting it shake too much._

_"For me?" she asks._

_Her arms unwind from around his shoulders before she drags her hands down his chest. A deep breath is inhaled slowly through her nose as she plays with the buttons of his shirt. He decided to forego a tie tonight, in favor of the warm night. Her head tilts and the soft purr thrumming in her throat causes his eyelids to flutter closed against his better judgement. He can feel her nose glide along his and he tries to convince himself that he didn't just hear her lips part, but he can feel her hot breath on his own mouth and he can't help but open for her. He can’t help it, the old Rose Tyler reflex to bend to her will. Her fingers have found their way back up his body and into his hair, coaxing single strands to move and be placed at her pleasing and he thinks she just might kiss him. But then he feels a sharp tug at the base of his skull and with a sharp hiss, his head is being forced back and John opens his eyes to see one Rose Tyler- or is this Blondie? Belle de Jour?- towering over him. Her pupils have started to dilate and her clenched teeth are peaking out through a snarl._

_In a voice so sweet (like honey, he thinks) it causes a gasp to stick in his throat, she tells him, ”This is what I call a life.”_

_And then she lets go of his head, placing her hands low on his abdomen. She greets him with a smile he can only describe as innocent when he finally snaps his head back up. The way his cock jumps when he spots her tongue between her teeth makes him feel sick. He won’t let her get the better of him, not again._

_“Rose-“_

_“Blondie,” she insists and puts her whole upper body into a thrust against him._

_“Girl,” he compromises through clenched teeth. “You aren’t the only one to have a baby, that's no excuse to be living all crazy.”_

_Because this is crazy. Since when did she have a baby? What kind of a sick joke is that? John has always known the universe to be cruel at times, but this is just vile._

_So she stares him right square in the eye and says, "Everyday I wake up, hoping to die.”_

_And then she palms his groin and gives a tight squeeze._

_His head lolls back as he moans involuntarily._

—————

 _“What”_ Jack interjects, his voice hard.

“What?” comes back John’s confused response, along with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. Jack has been mostly silent up until now.

“She said that? Rose Tyler said _that_?”

“Rose, Blondie, Belle, I don’t know who said it, Jack. Why does it matter?”

Jack doesn’t answer. He only motions with his hand to tell John to continue.

It matters; of course it matters. Suicide and death are serious matters. But Rose Tyler left him all those years ago- she practically has been dead to him all this time.

The thought makes his heart squeeze. He coughs.

—————

_“I got to know about pain cause-“_

_”Cause you left me? Oh no you don’t, sunshine. If anyone knows pain here, it’s me, not you,” John accuses._

_In some sort of twisted way, he thinks, he takes revenge by forcing her bra off (though she doesn’t struggle, instead helping him along as if she's agreeing with him) and cupping her breasts. Taking her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers, he pinches and twists them until she’s keening and crying out above him, her head tipping back and her chest arching towards him. She’s got one hand tugging at his hair and another digging into his neck, most likely leaving five crescent moon-like indents in his skin. John likes the idea of leaving an imprint, an impression, a mark if only for a moment and moves in to bite at her lower lip. He digs his teeth in and pulls the lip back, making sure she understands that this is no kiss. RoseBelleBlondie makes a small whimpering noise as he bites harder._

_When he pulls back, her lips are parted and the lower one is swollen and he thinks he can make out the redness that’s beginning to color under her lightly applied lipstick. It won’t leave a bruise and the swelling will go down within a minute but an animalistic part of him is still proud of what he’s done. She’s panting and her eyes have grown as black as the night sky. Her hair is in messy, loose curls and he can’t remember a time that she looked more beautiful yet more hideous. This is not Rose Tyler, he tells himself._

_“That summer before we met.. the one I never told you about.. never told anyone about..”_

_Her words bring John up short. When they met, she had been through something rough, but she never told him. Instead, she always looked forward and ahead. She wanted to getdobe better, and he helped her. She did the same for him. But never, not once, had she even hinted at what had made her feel like her life was going nowhere in the first place._

_”I ran away, so mum’s boyfriend at the time, Howard, couldn't rape me. Before I was a teenager I’d been through more shit you can't even relate to. So don’t you ever_ dare _think that I don’t know about pain.”_

_That said, she pushes herself up and off of his lap, making her way to the balcony door._

_John stops her by grabbing her hand, the same hand he grabbed to bring her out here._

_”Rose-“_

_“What would you do if your son was at home?” she asks, her voice beginning to shake._

_She’s vulnerable._

_”What would I do?” he asks._

_”What would you do?” her voice has begin to take a rougher tone to it._

_She’s trying to cover up the shakiness._

_John takes a moment to think before answering._

_When he finally answers, he meets her eye dead on and says, “Get up off my feet and stop making tired excuses.”_

_He can tell she’s shocked because her lips part, eyes widen, and she takes a second to reply._

_“What would you do?” her incredulousness is so apparent that he almost barks out loud with laughter._

_“Get up off my feet and stop making tired excuses.”_

_“What would you do?”_

_There’s that angry tone from earlier. John decides to match it._

_“Get up off my feet and stop making tired excuses.”_

_They’re repeating themselves, whether it be from lack of thought or response or if they’re both just entirely too stunned. But either way, their voices raise each time they reply. Maybe they’re trying to outdo the other; see how long this can last._

_“What would you do?” her voice has hardened and lowered to a harsh whisper. It makes him want to scream, so he does._

_“GET UP OFF MY FEET!” and physically stands from his seated position in the chair and walks towards RoseBelleBlondie until they are so close, their noses practically touch._

_His breathing is heavy, almost labored._

_It’s the thick swallow, thinning of her lips, and rounding eyes on a guarded facade that looks like it would crack with the lightest of touches that make up the woman in front of him that tells John that he is being addressed by Rose Tyler._

_“What would you do if_ your _son-“_

 _“But that’s just it! That’s exactly it! It’s not_ MY _son! It’s_ YOURS! YOURS! _NOT_ MINE _OR EVEN_ OUR _LIKE IT COULD HAVE- NO,_ SHOULD _HAVE BEEN!”_

_He has no idea where that came from, but there it is. It takes him a second, but he realizes he means it full force and suddenly all the fight has left him. As Rose drops his hand, her face draws a blank and John watches as all the fight leaves her, too._

_”You know what I tell him?_ My _son? When he asks about his daddy?”_

_She is completely deadpan and John wonders how long Rose Tyler has been talking to him._

_”What.”_

_He tries to tell himself that he doesn’t really care, that he’s entertaining her. But he knows these next few words could be their last and that anything could happen._

_”I tell him that his daddy saves people’s lives. I tell him that his daddy is the most important person in the world. I tell him that his daddy is better than that. I tell him that his daddy is needed by other people more than we do, but that it’s okay because I’ll never be needed more by anyone than my son. That I would never just tell him I'm leaving and go; have him hope I come back. If I leave, I'm coming back, and I make sure he knows it's him that I'm coming back to.”_

_With one last look over, Rose Tyler turns around, and Blondie reenters the party._

_It takes him a solid minute, but eventually John turns, cards a hand through his hair, and makes for the fire escape._

_The next morning he will find a lace bra in his shirt pocket and he will hide it deep in the bottom of his nightstand drawer. It will be his only proof of the previous night._

—————

“Ian,” Jack eventually breaks the silence.

“What?”

“You said you didn’t get to ask the kid’s name,” he explains. “It’s Ian. And Rose Tyler may not like _why_ she has to do what she does, but Blondie and Belle are good at what they do, and Rose is proud of that in her own way. She doesn’t just do what she has to for the sake of her kid, she does it for herself, as well. She went back and got her A-levels, did you know? No,” he doesn’t let John answer, his voice lowering to an accusing tone. “You probably didn’t. You probably also didn’t know that during the rare free moments in between working, spending precious time with her son, or even _trying_ to take care of herself,” John feels himself tense up at the thought of Rose not taking care of herself. She was always one to put others first. “In between all that, she’s making small commissions off her artwork. And if you hadn’t gone and yelled her to tears, maybe she would have told you all that.”

John must had been so stunned that his jaw dropped; it’s the only way to explain the salt and wetness that has slid over his upper lip and into his mouth.

Has he been crying?

“How do you know all that, Jack?” eventually Donna asks because it doesn’t look like John will be able to.

“You know those times when I tell you guys I can’t go out for drinks because I have a sweet babe to look after and you both think I’m making a joke and that I’m actually out having sex?”

Okay, so maybe those aren’t always his words- he has said that he babysits. But if you’ve ever met the guy, you wouldn’t believe that so easily. Ever.

“You were serious?” Donna gapes.

“Well, okay, maybe sometimes I was out having sex. But not always.”

Leaning back in his seat, Jack has his arms crossed and his face relaxed. But his eyes have a rough look to them, like he’s trying to hold back a fire. And that’s when John snaps out of his moment of shock because how could he not know? How could his best friend not tell him about _this_? Granted, Jack was friends with Rose first. Ever so loyal to her, as well.

“How long?” he asks.

“How long what?” Jack asks like he doesn’t know what John’s referring to, but the way his eyes lock with John’s says otherwise.

“How long have you know? How long have you been talking to her? How long have you kept this from me, Jack?”

“I’m not the one you need to ask, John.”

“Well the one I do need to ask isn’t here, now is she? No, she’s not because she ran away. AGAIN,” John pushes back his chair and stands.

He rounds on Jack who stands from his own chair.

“I bet you didn’t even ask her how old the kid is, did you?” Jack asks, his voice even and calm.

“Why does it matter?” John asks because really, why does it?

Is it supposed to make him feel bad if the child is a baby?

Is it supposed to make him feel okay if the kid is old enough to start thinking and fending for himself?

Jack looks down at his watch, studies it for a moment, then walks towards the front door without so much as a glance in John’s direction.

“Where are you going!?” John demands to know.

“To babysit a nine-year-old!” Jack calls out before swinging the door to shut it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that usually, clients aren't allowed to use their hands to touch strippers. However, for the sake of this story, the strippers at the party are allowed to be touched by hands.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends! As you can see; YOU'VE ALL CONVINCED ME TO CHANGE THIS FROM A ONE SHOT TO A MULTIPLE CHAPTER FIC. So good on you, and thank you for the support and encouragement. I can't quite believe it myself, the fact that I thought I could only make this a one shot, and the fact that I've agreed to write more. 
> 
> NOTE: I have gone back and edited the last chapter, and there are minor details that have been changed. But if you don't want to go back and look for them, no worries, I'll explain them later when/if they're important. I have also added more characters to the tags, and may continue to do so as the story progresses. The self defense in this chapter should be fairly accurate, from what I remember in a self defense class I took two years ago. Again, italics are for flashbacks.

That doesn’t make any sense. None at all. Rose Tyler can’t have a _nine-year-old_ son. She just can't. Rose ran away from John no more than ten years ago, but less than eleven. Maybe. Right? What month is it?

Has it really been that long?

But pregnancy takes nine months. Maybe the kid is about to turn ten, or maybe he just turned nine. 

When is this kid’s birthday? 

Why would Rose Tyler have a child of nine years of age, anyways? And yeah, that’s right, it’s Rose Tyler’s kid. She said so herself. Because apparently, she bloody well has a kid. And that Jimmy bloke’s got to be the father. He’s the one Rose ran away with. But what would possess her to have a child with him? Could have been an accident. Granted, John doesn’t know much about Jimmy Stone other than the fact that Rose ran away with him and according to Rose, he’s in jail. She did say that he was the father, right?

 

—————

 

 _”What about Jimmy Stone, then?” he aims to sound nonchalant, with a shrug of his shoulders and everything, but he knows the anger must be burning in his eyes. They could have had this life together. Well. Not_ this _life. But a life with a child, a family, money to spare, the whole lot. Any fears of domestics be damned._

_”What about him?”_

_She didn’t really just stiffen for a moment, he must have imagined it._

_”Well. You did run away with him. Figured he might still be around to help, seeing as you have a child together and all. You’ve got a job, sure, but what about h-”_

_”I ain’t got a job. I’ve got a living. And he’s been in jail for a while now; smokin’ rock,” and then she runs her fingernails along his jugular, and he nearly chokes on a moan._

 

—————

 

Thinking about it now, John realizes that she didn’t really say much about Jimmy. Or about him being.. the child’s- oh god, it's just a name, John! Just say it…. I… Ia- Rose didn’t say much about the father. But Jimmy has to be the father, unless Rose had had sex with someone else right after running away. Or maybe she didn’t run away with Jimmy at all. Maybe he just helped her leave him. Which raises the question: why would she leave him, leave school, and get pregnant? What purpose would that hold; to leave everything just to be pregnant? She could have only left him for the sole purpose of becoming pregnant, because clearly, depending on this child’s birthday, either Rose had gotten pregnant immediately after she left him, or she somehow happened to be pregnant before she even...

Even…

The slapping footfalls along the wooden floor reach John’s ears before he has the chance to let his mind catch up with the rest of him.

“Oh, no you _DON’T_!”

One moment, John is rushing forward, catching the door before it closes all the way behind Jack and then grabbing onto the collar at the back of his shirt, and the next moment he is on his knees with one hand stuck reaching up to Jack’s shoulder, arm straining at the elbow. Donna and John don’t really know what Jack’s real “above government” job is, but they always joked that he was a secret agent. If the indistinguishable amount of time it took him to knock all the wind out of John is anything to go by, they might not be far off.

He really should have seen this coming, though. Jack had taught Donna some basic self defense techniques a few years back after her fiancé left her at the alter for an old flame. The training was to get Donna’s mind off of her misery and to fend off the nightmares of her ex man’s reunited lover turning into a giant spider and trying to drown her. 

John had also joined in on Jack and Donna’s month long escapade so they could demonstrate techniques on him for Donna’s viewing and inexperienced practicing benefit (and for the benefit of her humor, John quickly surmised.) One of the first ever moves Jack taught Donna was how to defend herself from an attacker who might grab her hair. With her hair up in a ponytail, Jack had instructed John to grab the base with one hand. Donna would then step on John’s foot with the foot closest to him. In order to step, she would have to turn her body. Once she’d stepped on his foot, she would duck and spin under John’s arm, while grabbing onto his elbow joint with both hands. When straightening herself on the other side of John’s arm, she would pull down hard enough on the crease of John’s elbow to force John to drop down onto his knees.

It was humiliating then, and is just flat out shameful now.

“What are you going to do, John? Huh?”

“Jack, let him go!” Donna yells from the front porch.

Thank god, John thinks, that he has a house without close by neighbors.

“What are you gonna do, John?” Jack asks again, still not loosening his grip on John’s elbow. “Follow me to her place? Chew her out in front of her own kid? Be the type of man Rose has spent most of her life trying to stay away from? You want to scare the living day lights out of her and her child? Is that what you want, John?”

With John’s face turned downwards- he doesn’t want to admit defeat to the pain by showing Jack his grimacing face- Jack’s been panting and spitting in his hair. John hasn’t said a word and he hasn’t fought back against Jack’s grip (he’s too smart for that, anyways, he’s a doctor with a big surgery coming up next week and he can’t afford anything happening to his arms or the hands attached, and the wrong move could cost him much more than the rescheduling of a patient) so when Jack pulls down harder on the crook of John’s elbow and is only rewarded with a hiss, he decides to let go and back away.

“Is it?”

John finally swallows and meets Jack’s eye, but he doesn’t answer him. He really shouldn’t have run out here, and he definitely shouldn’t have tried to attack Jack. He could say that he didn’t know what he was doing, but of course he did. With all this anger, confusion, hurt, this whole spectrum of emotions, John wants answers. Seeing as Jack has quite a few, John did what he always does; he threw himself right into the mess of it, hoping to force some answers. 

Obviously, he is not stable and is acting out. It is very non-doctorly and very unprofessional. But goddamn it, he’s been hurting for days now, and to think that his best friend could have saved him from all this years ago..

“Boys,” John hears Donna sigh and in the corner of his eye, he can see her struggle between fear and comfort.

Jack has been John’s best friend for- hell, he doesn’t even know how many years it’s been. How do you pinpoint the exact moment you’ve become best friends with someone? Perhaps the same way you pinpoint the exact moment you fall in love with someone: you don’t. You just let it become routine, smile, and hang on for the ride.

But right now, it’s not enough to just hang on. Because for nearly eleven years, John’s best friend, Jack Harkness, has let him walk around with a Rose-shaped hole in his chest. And it took John getting a fake lap dance from the woman who created the hole in the first place, for Jack to admit it. If John was anyone but himself, he might have laughed at the irony, but it’s not enough for Jack to spill that he’s basically a double agent and then run off to the other base camp. John wants him to own up to the misery he’s undoubtedly going to put him through. Because this isn’t fair. 

“Tell me something, then?”

“What?”

Standing, John shakes his head, never breaking eye contact.

“Anything. Tell me anything.”

“You look pretty hot when you’ve gone half bonkers.”

_”Jack.”_

It’s Jack’s hesitance dragging on for a second too long that it prompts Donna into action; her tentatively stepping forward with her arms wrapped around herself. She’s stood by the door; a third party observer with her own asinine thoughts running through her head. How could _she_ have not known?

“Why didn’t you tell us, Jack?” 

This is nuts. Absolutely nuts. No more than an hour ago, the three of them had been happy and celebrating Donna’s success. Now, John is teetering between fight or flight, Jack looks like he could take out some spy gadget to make them forget everything, and Donna’s hoping this is all a joke and Jack will reveal a confetti cannon and hidden cameras.

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” Jack’s words are directed at John but he can only look at Donna.

“Then why didn’t she tell us?”

Leave it to Donna’s voice going soft to bring out and highlight the guilt on Jack’s face. And leave it to Jack to have his phone ring right then. He looks skyward, letting Donna and John listen in if they so wish. He knows they will.

“Hey, honey… Yeah, I’m still coming over. Hey, listen- …”

It isn’t Jack’s eyebrows beginning to furrow, his lips thinning out and forehead forming creases, but his line of sight shooting down to skim over his car that causes Donna to open her mouth, ready to ask what’s wrong. 

Jack holds up a hand to stop her.

“And that’s what the doctor said? …. Do you want me to bring- …. Yeah, of course I’ll still watch him. I’ll take care of him, he’ll be fine… No, it’s fine. Why? You aren’t getting sick, are you? … Oh, well that’s good… Uh, yeah, I can be there in..” he checks his watch and his jaw slacks as he readjusts it.

Jack doesn’t say, but it’s obviously Rose on the other end of the phone. It has to be. Like John, he has certain looks on his face only reserved for her. Unlike the looks he only has for Donna, these are the looks of a protective brother; similar to the looks John has had for her since they were very little.

“Fifteen minutes? Just gotta take care of something first, and then we need to have a talk… Oh, ha ha. No, this is serious….. A lot more………… How about this: I’ll see you both in a few, and if he’s got his hands in paint, I’ll wrap his blanket up like a straight jacket and make him sleep…. That only happened once! … Okay, okay, so it was four times, but R- …..” he almost slips up and says, but either stop himself or gets cut off. “Go finish doing what you need to do and stop worrying so much. I’ll be there in a few and then it’ll be my job to do that. Now go…. Yeah.. Yup.. Yeah, alright, tell him I’ll see him in a bit. And he better be resting! … Yeah, you, too. See you soon.”

Jack takes his time as he put his phone away, trying to delay addressing the Noble twins. He clears his throat before he turns to Donna.

“Congrats on the promotion, sweetheart. Really. How about I call you later about a celebratory dinner this weekend, huh?” he gives her a peck on the cheek and a tight hug.

“Yeah, yeah, sounds good. Just not that bloody awful seafood place again.”

“Anything you want,” he laughs, but she knows he means what he says.

Letting go, Jack backs away, flashing a toothy grin. Turning, he heads to his car and gets himself settled in the driver seat. He puts the key in the ignition and starts the car but stops when his hand shifts the car into gear. A moment goes by of him sitting still, and then he checks his rearview mirror and nods to himself before rolling down his window and directing his attention to John.

“Anything.”

“What?”

“You said to tell you anything. So, this is that anything. She almost made his middle name ‘Staples.’ You know, like C.S. Lewis. Clive Staples Lewis. Ian Staples Tyler.”

John, Jack, and Rose used to joke about their boring, common, and four letter first names. Well, Rose isn’t really too common, but naming a child after a flower sort of is, so. 

John clears his throat.

“Why?”

“Because it’s something you would have done.”

Donna and John watch as Jack’s car speeds down the road. Jack’s car has been out of sight for all of three seconds before Donna turns and slaps John. He recoils backwards, one hand flying to his reddening cheek.

“What the hell, Donna!?”

“You’re a fath-“ John cuts her off by smacking his free hand over Donna’s mouth.

“Don’t you dare say it, we don’t even know if it’s true.”

“Ov gose ehs twu,” Donna mumbles against John’s palm.

When Donna licks John’s hand, he pulls back in disgust and wipes his palm against his jean clad leg.

“You licked me!”

“You deserved it!”

His jaw drops opens and closes once, tightening, “ _How?_ ”

“Because I’m an aunt!”

“That doesn’t make any sense because no you’re not.”

“Why are you so in denial about this?”

John opens his mouth to retort, trying not to miss a beat, but comes up short. Closing his eyes, he cards a hand through his hand, and then runs his hands down his face. Reaching his eyes, his hands fist themselves so as to rub at his eyes, trying to shove them back into their sockets.

“Why are you so accepting about this?”

Shrugging, Donna takes a moment to think the question over before responding, “Well, it explains a lot.”

Not wanting to give John the chance to question her before she’s fully figured the whole matter out herself, Donna pulls her brother into a lingering hug before bidding him goodnight and heading to her own car. She has a lot of thinking to do before making the final decision about whether or not to kick Jack Harkness’s gorgeous arse halfway across the pond and back to America.

 

—————

 

Belle de Jour has a client soon, one of her regulars. Frank is a sweet man, a bit young, an American, a hair short of shy, has a great taste in hotels, and is filthy rich thanks to his inheritance from his Uncle Solomon. He is definitely one of her favorites, and not just because of the big fat tip he always leaves her, although, it does help. And with tonight being an all-nighter and Rose’s son being sick, the extra money will definitely be appreciated.

But her poor baby- well, he’s not a baby anymore, but goddamn it, Rose had to carry Ian for nine months, so she’s allowed to call him whatever she damn well pleases- he has a cold. According to the pediatrician, Ian has a sinus infection, ear infection, and his sore throat will continue to make his voice raspy for at least a few more days. And he should say home from school for the nexttwo or three days,depending on the progression or digression of his symptoms. But at least there’s medicine he can take. Really expensive medicine. But that’s what the jobs are for, aren’t they?

Okay, yeah, so does Rose like why she became a prostitute and stripper? No. But are they jobs that she’s good at? Yes. Are they fun? Sometimes. Do they offer good pay? Mostly. And that’s all that really matters with her life. She should probably feel lucky that tonight is Frank’s monthly all-nighter and that she’s getting more pay than every other week with him. 

The man may be rich, but his schedule only allows him to do one all-nighter per month (sometimes two, and rarely three) while the rest of the weeks can only last for the regular one hour. But at least he always makes his appointments, and when he can’t, he reschedules. He never goes a week without an appointment, and she never goes a week without at least his one payment. It has been a long, long time since she’s gone a week or more without any pay.

 

This week, she could really use the money. Most weeks, Belle and Blondie make enough money to take care of the bills, art supplies, and groceries and still leave a little left over to spoil on her sweet little boy. Other weeks, there’s only enough money to settle the bills and maybe some groceries. It’s in those weeks that Jack comes in the handiest, although Rose always has a hard time accepting his help. Sure, she doesn’t feel as guilty as she used to when she asks him to babysit, especially since Ian and him adore each other so much. But Rose Tyler does not do “pity money” no matter how many times Jack has said that he doesn’t pity her. Of course he probably does, though, or else he probably would have ratted her out the moment he figured out that she was planning to run away all those years ago.

And who other than the man himself to break her train of thought by letting himself into her apartment.

“Hi, Uncle JaaaaaaaAAAAACHOO!” 

The corners of her mouth twitching, Rose tries not to laugh and hands Ian the tissue box from the coffee table.

“That a new nickname?” 

Jack has a harder time suppressing his amusement.

“No, I’m sick. You’re s’posed ta say, ‘bless you,’” Ian’s lower lip juts out in a slight pout and a line forms between his knitted brows just above the bridge of his glasses. 

He never likes being sick.

“Right, sorry, my mistake,” Jack raises his hands palm up in apology. “Bless you. How’s that, kiddo?”

Ian starts to snort the snot back up his nose until he catches the warning look from his mother and grabs another tissue to blow his nose with.

“Better, I s'pose. Thanks.”

“Not a problem. Now how about you go and change into your jim jams while I talk to your mom, sound good?” Jack proposes with a smile.

Ian chooses to answer with a groan and overdramatic, wide armed flounce onto his back from his seated position on the middle of the couch. But then he starts to cough and Rose rushes out of the room and back in with water from the kitchen.

“Sounds like energy,” he rasps out with a pinched face.

“Well, how about this: you get into your jim jams, then you get into your bed, and when I’m done talking to your mom, I’ll come and read you Harry Potter?”

Rose csn sense her son’s hesitancy to leave her. He knows she will be gone for the night, and he’s done these sleepovers with Jack enough times to be comfortable with them, but he never seemed to entirely get used to them. His cold could be the root of the extra indecision, since Rose has been there to nurture him through all his past sicknesses.

“I’ll come in before I go to work, alright baby?”

“Alright, mum," he nods after a second before sneezing.

“Bless you,” Rose and Jack called out as Ian makes his way to his room.

 

—————

 

There are a few minutes left before Rose has to leave, giving her just enough time to explain the instructions from the doctor, and have some time left over for a short talk.

“So were you ever planning on telling me about John, or?”

Okay, maybe not so short of a talk. Unless..

“John who?” she feigns innocence, knowing it won’t likely work, but still hoping against all odds.

“Don’t play games with me, Rose,” there’s a warning note in his tone that causes Rose’s jaw to tighten.

“Eventually.”

“No you weren’t.”

“Well, maybe I was.”

“Were you?”

“Yes!”

“Really?”

“Look, maybe I was just waiting for some free time. Don’t roll your eyes at me, Jack Harkness. This is the first all-nighter this week, but the second time Ian’s had to go to bed without me here, which you know I hate just as much as he does. And when I get home from calls like that, I like to sleep until my son wakes me up, and then I like to spend my free time with him. Besides, it’s not like we’ve got much matched free time, you and me, what with you working in the day and me working at night. And then you offer to babysit Ian at night, and where does that leave you with free time that you’re fully awake for, yeah? How’d you find out anyways?”

Jack replies without missing a beat, “John told me.”

That brought Rose up short. She had known that Jack has continued his friendship with John and Donna Noble throughout the years; they had even discussed the twins and their family from time to time. Well. Jack would update Rose on the big things, like the death of their father, Donna’s engagement (and the later failure of it), John’s success, and she even knew about Donna’s currently eligibility for a job promotion at wherever she was working that Rose absently forgets every time Jack talks about it (which, now that Rose thinks about it, is somewhat often). When she first ran away, Jack was the only person she kept in contact with and he had always kept her secret. Always. Or at least she thought he had.

“What the hell did you tell him?”

“What? You don’t want to know what he told me?”

It took a few seconds of consideration for Rose to answer.

“Both. I want to know both,” she states, firmly.

“Alright, shall we start with him telling me and Donna that you said that every day you wake up hoping to die?”

Carefully hiding her face behind her hands, Rose tries to calm herself with slow breaths. God, she still can’t believe she said that. It didn’t even occur to her how much those words meant until she said them to him and she watched as all the light left his eyes. God, oh god. 

 

—————

 

_“Girl, you aren’t the only one to have a baby, that's no excuse to be living all crazy.”_

_Living? He calls this living? Scraping by and making due because she has to? Because she has no other choice? Because she has to be there for her son? Is it really living if you’re hardly even living for yourself?_

_She stares him right square in the eye and says, "Everyday I wake up, hoping to die.”_

_His eyes had been flickering with a spark; of what, she couldn’t tell, but she knew it was there. And then she said that and watched as the spark died right before her. God, she has missed those open book eyes. Even when she told him she was leaving, his eyes were screaming at her. She wants it back, she needs it back, before the vacancy in his stare spreads to the rest of that gorgeous face she can’t believe she ever tried to convince herself that she doesn’t miss. She palms his groin and gives a tight squeeze, hoping that will do the trick, or at least distract him._

_His head lolls back with an involuntarily moan and Rose releases a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding._

 

—————

 

Dropping her hands, she meets Jack’s eye and tries to keep herself composed.

“It hurts, Jack,” her voice only breaks a little, but it’s better than tears. “Why does it hurt?”

When Jack sighs and wraps his arms around her, she’s surprised to find that she isn’t crying and figures she must really look a mess if he’s just gone straight into hugging her.

“I don’t know, Rosie. I don’t know.”

Rocking back and forth, Rose is careful not to ruin her makeup, and Jack is careful not to mess up her hair, taking to rubbing wide circles on her back instead. Picking the familiarity up from John and passing it onto Ian, Rose has always loved people rubbing circles against her in comfort.

“I would say that I think you need a doctor, but I’m sure the sentiment would make you laugh more if he said it.”

While the words don’t get Rose to laugh, they do get her to smile and it’s all she needs to be able to collect herself, pull back from the hug, and check the clock on the microwave.

“I’ve got to say goodbye to Ian soon. Can you just… give me the brief rundown?”

As Jack recollects his earlier teatime with the Noble twins, Rose fought back the urge to bite her nails, a habit she tries to kick more often than not. He tells her about John’s asshat of a colleague, Adam, inviting him to a party in hopes of gaining a spot on his surgical team and how John struggled to openly admit to saying Rose’s name, preferring to refer to her as ‘Blondie’ at first, as she had to insisted. Following along with her own memory, she tries not to blush when she remembers the feel of John taking her hand and whispering lowly but authoritatively in her ear to run. She finds herself relieved to know that John hadn’t gone into too vivid of detail about the physical aspect of their short time together, and laughs when Jack times to wheedle further information out of her. When Jack tells her that John had firmly tries to stick to the believe that Ian was not his own child, but Jimmy’s, Rose isn’t able to meet Jack’s eye and she swallows thickly and watches the numbers change on the clock.

And then Jack surprises her enough that she can’t help turning her gaze back to his, when he lets her know exactly what he said to John and Donna and how John attacked him after he recovered from his shock.

“I think he knows now and I think he’s fighting to deny it to himself. I also think you need to tell him.”

“No,” the word is out of her mouth before Jack has finished his sentence.

“Why not?”

“I’m not just going to go looking for him and just come out with all of this. There’s no way to just casually dump all of this for him. And besides, there’s no need. This is my life, not his.”

“So you’d rather he find out at another one of your jobs, then?”

Oh, that’s just not fair.

“No. Because he’s never going to end up at one of my jobs by mistake ever again. I told you, I’m trying to leave Blondie behind. No more last minute parties that anyone could be at. And no more John. I don’t even know why we need to talk about this; it’s been ten years, everything we had is gone-“

“No, everything you had is lying in bed with a cold.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the first chapter, I did not use any specific song to write this chapter. Opinions on song use versus no song use per chapter would be greatly appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was working on my Women's Studies homework when I came across the most amazing quote that inspired me to dig up this old piece and continue my work on this chapter. For those of you that have read the previous two chapters, you may want to go back and at least look at my notes, as I have added much more. But..
> 
> *For anyone that has watched BBC's Merlin, you might notice that I have made Jethro Cane the partner of Arthur Penn, a common AU name for Arthur Pendragon centered fics. Yes, I am going to involve them intimately in this story. Yes, I am going to involve them both together and separately with Rose/Belle/Blondie. Yes, this does mean a threesome (or possibly more some) in future chapters. Yes, it will be/has all been consented. And yes, I will be making them all kinky fuckers (literally and metaphorically).
> 
> Also, this is a bisexual friendly fic written by a (can be) friendly bisexual, so if you have any issues with that, I suggest you leave.
> 
> Anyways.. I'm stuck, and inspiration only got me this far, but I haven't posted in almost a year and it needed to be done. I HOPE TO BE BACK SOON.
> 
> WARNINGS: a suicidal hospital patient, cock rings, light sub/dom, if you don't like the term "vaginal sex" that's just too bad

_“Besides, you’ve written a little, but in secret. And it wasn’t good, because it was in secret, and because you punished yourself for writing, because you didn’t go all the way; or because you wrote, irresistibly, as when we would masturbate in secret, not to go further, but to attenuate the tension a bit, just enough to take the edge off. And then as soon as we come, we go and make ourselves feel guilty – so as to be forgiven; or to forget, to bury it until the next time.”_  
_\-- “The Laugh of the Medusa” by Hélène Cixous_

 

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, oh my go-“

“Don’t you dare cum! Do you see this?” The man uses his hand not currently stripping his cock raw to finger the leather cuff wrapped around its root. At the answering whine, he continues, “’Till this comes off, neither do you.”

The next whine, a more high pitched thing than she would normally give would she be pleasuring herself for herself, causes the man to visibly shutter and groan. For a moment, his eyelids flutter close, he forces a deep intake of breath and his hand stutters to a gripping stop.

“Fuck,” he husks.

Belle keens in encouragement, biting her lip and batting her lashes.

"Fuck," Jethro pants again. "Yeah. Yeah, okay, fuck. I'm ready."

It was only a matter of time before he gave in, as Jethro usually does. Must be a good day if he's giving up without much of a fight -- well, other than the play fighting that took up a better part of half an hour earlier, of course.

Condom at the ready, Belle waits for Jethro to remove his leather cuff and in his distraction of tossing it on top of his pants on the ground, Belle takes the opening of leaning in to roll the rubber onto Jethro's cock. As soon as it's on, Belle barely gets a single rub up the shaft before Jethro has her wrists in his hands, dragging them above her head and bouncing her back into the pillows. She can't quite help the squee that it elicits from her, but she can help the giggles she adds for his amusement. If the shine in Jethro's eyes and the enthusiast suckling he rewards to her nipple is anything to go by, she's sure she's done the right thing.

Knowing the clock is quite literally ticking, she bucks her hips ever so slightly to urge her companion along. Thankfully, with one last suck and then a kiss on Belle's breast, he takes the hint.

Straightening up, he clears his throat and pushes Belle's thighs further apart. Then, like the tease he is, Jethro takes his time pushing in.

With a low groan, he is fully seated and Belle is trying not to squirm. She knows it's an adjustment for him, even after all the years he's spent as her client, that it's only during these appointments that Jethro actually has vaginal sex. Unless, of course, his boyfriend Arthur joins them, then Jethro might not have that much of a change in his normal sexual habits for that appointment.

Arthur is supposed to tag along next week, Belle questions herself faintly. Or so she believes that she remembers have been agreed upon. She'll have to ask Jethro before she leaves to relieve her college student neighbor of babysitting duty. 

+++

"I met the most beautiful woman the other day," Mickey confides in Rose and Ian over tea. With Ian home sick, he has been invited himself to Rose and Mickey's routine get together, now moved for the day because of Ian, to Rose's flat for the day rather than that little coffee shop down the road from her's or the nice cafe by Mickey and Jack's work. Due to a business meeting, Jack isn't able to make the lunch, much to Ian's chagrin.

"Yeah?" Rose asks curiously, but good natured. She hasn't seen Mickey this happy in a long time. It's more than she can say for herself at the moment, but she can't let Mickey know that. Not with Ian in the room. Maybe not at all, unless Jack has already said something. She hopes not, and if she has to guess from the way that Mickey has been acting, she thinks she might be safe for now.

"Yeah." He sounds wistful, and he's only just met the woman! "Saved each other's lives, we did."

Rose raises a brow and leans back in her chair to ready herself. This has got to be a good one, she thinks.

"Some bloke on a bicycle almost crashed into her on the sidewalk, but I pulled her back. Then, gentleman that I am-"

Rose snorts. She can't really help it.

"Gentleman," Mickey starts again slowly, insistently, and Rose purses her lips. Ian, however, looks on with rapt interest. "That I am, I offered to help her cross the street."

"And how old is this woman exactly?"

"Oi, watch it, she's got to be around the same age as you."

"Ooh," Rose teases. "A younger woman!"

"By about a year or two! It's not that big a difference!"

"Right, right." Rose nods in faux sympathy, trying to smother a grin.

"Anyways," Mickey rolls his eyes. "I'm just a step or two ahead of her when suddenly a car comes outta nowhere." That causes Rose to stiffen for a moment. Her father died in a hit-and-run when she was a baby. All the times her mother warned her about not running out into the streets growing up really did a number on her. "And then she pulled me back."

"That doesn't sound too exciting."

With a laugh, Rose relaxes. 

"I'll have you know, little man," Mickey points a stern finger at Ian. "It was very romantic."

"And what was so romantic about it?" Rose goads him.

"'Cause right after, yeah? I look her in the eyes and say, 'Marry me.'"

"And she told you off as a nutter, right? Like, she didn't just agree? Right there in the middle of the street after you just met? Please, tell me this woman isn't as crazy as you as to say yes to that."

For a solid three seconds, Rose has an actual fear that this woman did exactly that. Mickey's ever growing smile does absolutely nothing to ease her worries. As much as she loves her childhood best friend and as much as she wants him to be happy, she can't agree with this. It's just too much, and so very much like the teenage him that he has spent the past few years working so hard to mature past.

And what Mickey says next causes not just her, but apparently also wide-eyed Ian, to breathe easy once more.

"She said, 'Let's try a date first and see if maybe we can work our way up to it.'"

Rose sighs in relief, "Oh, thank god. She's only somewhat crazy." And Mickey gawks as Ian snickers.

"Alright, alright," Rose concedes. "When's your date, then?"

"Tomorrow," Mickey tells her proudly.

"Well then, good luck."

"Thank you."

"Yeah. You never know with the crazy ones, so you're gonna need it, Uncle Mick," Ian chimes in helpfully.

Rose nearly chokes on her spit, she laughs so hard.

+++

"I met the strangest man the other day," Martha tells John.

"Were you up in the mental ward, again?"

Martha smacks him on the arm.

"Right, I forgot who I'm talking to. Don't worry, I've still yet to meet anyone stranger than you."

"Hang on," John indignantly tries to defend himself, but Martha is having none of it.

"Will you just shut up and listen for once?"

"Oh, alright." He could use a bit of a distraction from his own thoughts.

"Thank you," Martha huffs. "So, anyways, I was on my way home from work when this cyclist nearly crashed into me."

"You alright?" John asks, concerned.

"Yeah, I'm fine, obviously. But that's just it! This fit bloke-"

"Uh-huh."

Martha rolls her eyes.

"This fit bloke pulls me out of the way then offers to walks me a bit more of the way to make sure I was okay."

"That was good of him."

"Yeah, it was." And Martha sounds so content that John can't bring himself to tease her further. He tries to listen more attentively. "But then when we were crossing the street, this car pulled up out of nowhere and nearly hit him. Thankfully, I pulled him back just in time. And then -- now this is the real kicker -- he looks at me with the most incredulous look on his face and asks me to marry him!"

"Dear god," John breathes. "I don't know whether to think this man mad or a genius for making such a move so fast." He pauses. Then intrigued and somewhat excited, "What did you say?"

Martha blushes.

"I said, 'Let's try a date first and see if maybe we can work our way up to it.'"

"Martha Jones!" John exclaims in his joy. "You sly dog, Martha Jones! Who knew you had it in you?"

Rolling her eyes, Martha slaps John's arm once more, but it's lighthearted and John can see her losing a fight against a smile.

"Shut up."

"Oh, come on. This is a good thing! A date would be good for you! Live a little, learn to indulge yourself from time to time-"

"You're one to talk."

"Oh, whatever."

If only you knew, John thinks, but he can't quite make himself tell her about Rose. Martha may have grown to be a good friend over the few short years they've known each other, but Rose is a story for a less sober time. Or a time with more tea and a less depressing environment.

"So, when's this pre-wedding date of yours and, uh..?"

"Mickey."

"Huh." That brings John up short for a brief second. "Used to know a Mickey." But that thought can only lead him to think once more about Rose, so he gets back to the subject at hand. "Anyways, when are you and mister Mickey going to start planning the wedding?"

"We're not planning anything, we're just going to dinner tomorrow."

"Ooh, tomorrow. Are you nervous?"

Martha blushes and looks down. "Little bit?" She looks back up at him.

"Well, there's nothing wrong with that," John tries to reassure her. "Perfectly normal."

"I know." Martha smiles and John thinks that she'll be fine, which might be more than he can say for himself.

+++

"Doctor Noble, good, hi, I need your help," pants some other doctor that John can't remember the name up.

"Yep, well here I am. What can I help you with?"

"I'm completely swamped with patients right now and this new one's just come in, all cut up, tried to, well." He clears his throat. "Anyways, I was wondering if you could check on him? Just give me some time to get in there for a psych eval."

"Anything, in particular, you want me to do?"

"Just talk to him and check over the bandaging, please."

Checking a nearby wall clock, John figures that he does have the time.

"Yeah, sure."

Doctor whatever-his-name-is smiles in relief and sends John off.

Outside the ward, John prepares himself by thoroughly going over the patient's chart. From what he can tell, the man, Louis King, age thirty-five, made a failed attempt on his own life by cutting along as many vulnerable parts of his body as he could before he passed out. He was then found by his long-time girlfriend and emergency contact, Reinette.

John enters the all grey room solemnly, trying to force as much brightness into his severity as he can. He tries to add a smile.

"Hello, Louis. My name is Doctor John Noble and I've been sent to check over your bandaging if that's alright."

The man gives his a once over look before nodding and turning his gaze away. John takes the permission he is granted and starts checking over the gauze coverings. Thankfully, Louis hasn't seemed to have tried to upset his self-inflictions furthers.

"All safe and covered, low chance of an infection, which is nice," he remarks absently. It earns him a sharp look from Louis.

"There is nothing nice about it."

"About why you're all wrapped up? I'll be honest with you, no. It's not so nice," he tries to be gentle in his not-quite-chiding.

Louis looks away and silence settles over the room for a minute.

"I didn't think she'd come," Louis says so softly that John nearly misses it. Thinking back to the chart, John doesn't really think he has to ask, but he does.

"My girlfriend, Reinette. We uh," he clears his throat, "We'd gotten ourselves into a row and she left. I didn't even know what the fight was really about." John tries not to hiss in sympathy. This has just taken a hit a little too close to home for John's taste. "But then, she just up and went and I got drunk and called her and-" Louis cuts himself off there and John is half grateful for it. Except now, he's expected to respond and he doesn't really know how to.

Clearing his own throat, John tries to take it slow.

"There's - There could have been a better-"

But Louis picks the conversation back up himself as in John hasn't said a word.

"I think it was both our faults really; that lack in communication. I mean, of course, I know it's my fault for this," here, he displays the undersides of his arms for a second, "and I blame myself, really I do, but the emotions behind it, that was on both of it." 

A muscle in John's jaw decides to twitch at that and it is only then that John realizes that he's been clenching his jaw.

And then Louis meets John's eye.

"I know what I did was wrong. So, can I go? I promise I'll do better, I just overreacted."

Sighing, John closes his eyes, bringing one hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. He takes several seconds to ground himself before putting on a more professional façade.

"Mister King, I am only here to check over your bandaging and to make sure that you are as comfortable as can be, despite the circumstances-"

"Isn't that usually a nurse's job?"

It takes a great amount of willpower not to sigh, or groan, or roll his eyes, or do anything, really, aside from continuing on with his little speech.

"As well as to inform you as to what will happen when the doctor assigned to you comes in to do a psych evaluation. This evaluation will determine whether or not you can, as you put it, go, or if you might need to be hospitalized in a facility to be further check in on."

"I don't really think that that will be necessary."

"Yes, well, I'm not the doctor that gets to determine whether or not that's true."

Louis tries to argue a bit more from there, but luckily, doctor whatever-his-name comes along shortly thereafter and then John is left alone with his thoughts once more.


End file.
